Thanks for your patience as I continue to piece this story together! I hope you enjoy this chapter and all have a happy start to your weekend.

The cold wood of the seat was nothing compared to the sight of her pale arms besides the imposing chains atop the arms of the chair. Sitting in the center of the room was even more intimidating than she had imagined it back in her fifth year when Harry had explained his hearing to her. Staring down at her was no less than fifty witches and wizards, all of varying ages and backgrounds, who looked as if they had had already made up their mind of whether or not she was guilty. Kingsley sat across from her, though quite a ways higher up than she was, and his attempted smile of comfort was much grimmer than he probably intended.

To her right Harry sat in the rows of stands in silence, their tension only fueling her timidity as she scanned the hall for other familiar faces. Harry's nervous thumbs up would have made her laugh had the circumstances been any different, but then she only managed a weak smile and turned back to face what was obviously her inevitable doom. Lucius' upturned nose stood out to her rather later than she would have imagined, then realization dawned upon her that he was late. What an insolent git, the words repeated themselves over and over as she watched the tall man make his way to sit in the stalls to her left. Of course, he would be representing himself as her prosecutor if they needed to hear from him to support his claims. He did not meet her gaze but rather glanced down his nose at the rest of the room in an arrogant scan that made her blood boil.

"You are Miss Hermione Jean Granger?" The urge to slap Kingsley was wrangled down by her great want to be able to garner a job in the future.

"I am."

"And you are the woman behind the Dear Jane column in the Daily Prophet?" She hesitated for only a moment but Kingsley's look of defeat prompted her to comply,

"I am."

"And you were aware that the Ministry wished you to issue a redaction statement."

"I was and I did."

"That is to be debated, Miss Granger." It was Lucius who spoke, his voice was warm but his piercing eyes refused to meet her's, instead his gaze was fixed rather pointedly on the Minister of Magic.

"Right, Mr. Malfoy if you would read Miss Granger's statement." So he did. It was quite the orderly hearing, although she felt as if she was given very little platform to state her case. She listened to Malfoy read her work aloud with a little bit of pride and chanced a glance over at Harry, who flashed her a weak smile that she failed to return.

"It is very clear, Minister, that Miss Granger showed no true remorse in her statement and blatantly disregarded the Ministry's hard work put into the rehabilitation program." Lucius' words practically made Hermione see red,

"That is ridiculous!" The young witch moved to stand and the chains of the chair wriggled in warning, the cuffs of the shackles threatening to close around her wrists; shocked, Hermione remained seated with a glare of accusation pointed at Lucius who had an unreadable expression upon his face. It was probably smugness, Hermione decided, though it didn't at all resemble the proud smirk of his son. "Minster, please."

Kingsley nodded, granting her permission to state her case.

"I don't know what else there is to say except there is a disclaimer that runs on every edition saying that my opinions don't reflect the Ministry's or the Prophet's. I'm simply giving my own opinions on different issues. Our editor, his name is Geoff Tifflace approved the article. I don't understand what is so offensive about what I'm writing. The redaction is honest, it states the happenings surrounding my writing in full truth, and there is nothing that I withheld. What is so offensive about the truth?" Harry recognized her tone as dangerously calm; the kind of calm that came before she had a true breakdown, he'd heard the same coolness in her voice in the fifth year when she dealt with Ron and Lavender.

"What is so offensive, Miss Granger," Kingsley's cold voice made her eyebrows raise, she'd never seen him so confrontational and especially not to a fellow Order member, "is your blatant disregard for authority." Had she heard those words before? "Your column has brought great disruption to the Ministry, by ignoring Lucius' orders to issue a proper and sincere apology you have lost your right to continue this column if so voted. All those in favor of-"

"Wait! Minister, please! I did not personally disrupt the Ministry, I don't see why I should be punished for other people's actions. I was not the one who owled the Ministry nor am I the one whom so many participants of the rehabilitation program feel is lacking in case. I won't write about the program anymore, if that is what the Ministry wishes. Perhaps it should be those who lack care towards their rehabilitating that should be punished, not some columnist. This would be unreasonable any other way!" Her voice shook, yes, but she knew she could never forgive herself if she did not try every tactic she could think of to keep her job and column safe.

Out of the corner of her eye, Harry was viciously shaking his head in warning and it was only later that night at dinner that Hermione learned from Arthur the rehabilitation program was Kingsley's personal project that he still held a watchful eye over.

"No, Miss Granger, those are not the charges."

"I request a recess!" Again, she nearly stood were it not for the slithering chains of the wretched chair. A cold dread filled her as a low murmur rose throughout the crowd. Pride restrained her from glancing over at Lucius Malfoy, the smug bastard; although she could feel his eyes boring into her skull.

"Denied. May I say, Miss Granger, I find it is your behavior that is unbearably unreasonable. I suggest you take more care in future occasions to respect the wishes of the Ministry. For now, we vote. All in vote of charging the defendant as guilty, say aye." A wave of hands rose and a chorus of ayes echoed in her ears. She wished the floor would swallow her up. "All those in favor of Miss Granger's innocence." Not a single vote for her innocence. Tears welled before she could stop them. Biting her lip in frustration and in hopes of stopping the tears from rolling, Hermione stared up at Kingsley with a look of utter disbelief.

"Miss Granger you have been charged as guilty for slander against the Ministry of Magic. Your column will be removed from the Daily Prophet and your severance will serve as your fine for your act of indecency. Good day." The chorus of chairs scraping against wood sent shivers down her spine that matched the discomfort of Harry rushing to her side.

"I'm so sorry, Hermione. It's going to be ok." Harry wrapped his arms around her immediately, though she didn't really register his hug or mumbled, kind words. Devastation overwhelmed her and she vaguely wondered if her knees were going to give out. Fury clenched her fingers into her palms and she wondered if her nails would cut through her skin.

"Let's just go, Harry, please." Over her friends shoulder she made accidental eye contact with Lucius Malfoy whose face revealed nothing, though it was not the usual blank slate that she remembered from childhood. No, there was a look of great need on his face that she could not recall seeing before; but need for what she did not know, it was not his life that was being destroyed at the moment. Perhaps it was a need to memorize the sight of her life crumbling before his very eyes thanks to him.

"Fuck you" slipped from her lips as frustrated tears slipped from her eyes and a pink flush rose in his high cheekbones. It was not that she loved the column so much, it was that she had been thwarted again by a Death Eater. When would this fighting stop? Could she never help people without cruelty intervening? Would the rest of her life be summarized by attempting to overcome evils just so she could live in peace? A numbness she recognized from the days after she wiped her parents' memories buzzed through her brain. So this was how it would be, she finally understood.

Harry pushed her to the exit and to the lift. They rode in silence in an empty cart, though Lucius Malfoy had been walking quite stealthily behind them; the look Harry had shot the older man as they stepped into the lift had stopped him from joining them. Piercing blue eyes met her watery brown as the lift doors rolled shut, his extended hand unable to stop the metal as a softness filled his stare. More static numb filled her brain as tears silently tripped down her cheeks. All Hermione could think about was the absolute injustice of the entire ordeal. They'd barely allowed her to speak; she knew it wasn't even really a crime and that they just needed an excuse to shut down any talk that wasn't positive advertisement for the government. Resentment and frustration brought more tears to her eyes and Harry wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulder that truly did help.

Dinner that night was a quiet affair, even though everyone was in attendance. She found herself sitting across from Lavender and feeling extremely self-pitying which Ginny said was completely understandable, but made Hermione even more upset with herself. It was hard not to wallow though when her failures were put so obviously on display by the accomplishments of those around her. Harry had his dream job and been promoted already, Ginny was playing professional Quidditch, Ron had a stable and prestigious job, Lavender was selling her own brand of perfume which supposedly masked "the smell of the wolf" and was doing quite well, and George had kept the business alive and flourishing.

Then on top of that Harry and Ginny were engaged, Ron and Lavender were living together, and George had happily been seeing Angelina for months. Hermione had never felt so alone in the entirety of her life. Her job had been taken away from her and she was despairingly single; not that she had really cared in the past, but now she was feeling bereft of the comfort those around her so obviously had. That thought caused her a great heave of a gasp in the middle of dessert which she covered with a cough, pretending to have choked on her water. She apparated home with a heavy heart, but a full stomach, grateful that her friends knew well enough not to attempt to cheer her up when she just needed time to grieve.

Grief was not something Hermione was well studied in. For someone who had been surrounded by death and destruction for most of her life, she had not properly allowed herself a lot of time to grieve. Dumbledore's death had struck her the deepest but even that she had moved passed with surprising quickness, considering she had not been extremely close to the man. Obliviating her parents memories was another moment that had taken a toll on her mental health, but even then she knew it was her own decision and for their safety so she hadn't really allowed a grief period. When she'd found them after the war they weren't upset and didn't grieve for their lost year but celebrated their reunion. That was how she was raised: to focus on the positives, only try to control what you can control, study hard and succeed with honesty.

Yet, for someone without much practice in grief, Hermione allowed herself to indulge. Donning a pair of sweatpants and a tank top, she buried herself beneath her covers without anything nutritious to eat unless one counted ice cream and potato chips as vegetables. She refused visitors, ignored Ginny and Harry's owls, and buried herself in her books. It wasn't a period in her life that she was proud of, but she allowed the indulgence in great belief that she truly deserved it. On her fifth day of not showering, eating utter rubbish, and looking a bit like a trash raccoon—and owl arrived that sparked her interest, it was from Harry.

Hermione,

We're just going to keep writing, whether you answer or not. Kingsley sent this memo out today and I thought you should take a look. Just owl when you're ready for our company, we miss you.

Love,

Harry

Some sense of masochism had kept her reading her friends' owls without responding to them and when she'd unfurled the parchment he attached, she was suddenly grateful for that self-destructive tendency.

Ministry Officials,

Please let it be noted that degradation of the Ministry of Magic in any regards will not be tolerated. We are living in an age where wartime sensibilities have been adapted and must now be taught to be abandoned. This is a zero-tolerance policy across the board for all witches and wizards that will be enforced strictly. We have attached a list of previous occurrences of treason and/or disrespect to the Ministry of Magic. Note that this is not a list of reformed citizens, but a list that includes both war heroes and wizards in the Reconstructive Rehabilitation Program alike. To report misspoken wizards and witches please contact the Auror office.

Sincerely,

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Ministry of Magic

Hermione scanned the list and was surprised that the list of names consisted mainly of ex-Death Eaters, though Lucius Malfoy's name was suspiciously absent, much to her chagrin. It was no surprise that her name was listed there, here Harry had circled it, as if she could miss it.

Granger, Hermione (alias Miss Jane) – Charged with slander against the Ministry of Magic for written words in her Daily Prophet column "Dear Jane."

Beneath that, her heart dropped as she read onward, was a listing that filled Hermione with absolute guilt and shame.

Groslig, Maximus – Charged with slander against the Ministry of Magic for written complaints regarding the Reconstructive Rehabilitation Program in response to a one "Dear Jane" column

"Fuck." Stumbling over an annoyed and hissing Crookshanks, Hermione grappled her body out from under the twisted sheets and covers to run to the kitchen. Fit in only a tank top, a pair of white knickers, and fuzzy socks that she'd knit in Gryffindor colors Hermione pushed her knotted hair out of her unwashed (and admittedly, somewhat greasy) face to lean over her kitchen counter and shakily write out a letter to Harry.

Harry,

I think we should speak in person. I'm sorry for the delay; I would love to have you and Ginny over for dinner tonight say 6 o'clock? Hope to see you then!

With love,

Hermione

Their acceptance response came in the form of an owl rapping at her bathroom window as hurriedly showered in an attempt to wash disappointment, regret, and failure out of her hair.

Harry made a point of being prompt, which meant dragging Ginny out from in front of the mirror. Which meant upon arrival, Ginny hurriedly kissed Hermione on the cheek before disappearing into the bathroom with her makeup clutch.

"The girliest Quidditch player in the history of the sport!" Harry yelled after her cheekily, before pulling Hermione into a tight hug. He'd experienced a lot of pain in his life, Hermione knew, and nobody knew exactly what a person in grief needed like Harry did. A hushed whisper against her ear made her eyes tear up,

"I know you think we don't understand, 'Mione, but we do. Your work is like a person to you and we know you've lost them."

All Hermione could do was accept his words, for the frog in her throat was suddenly too large to speak around. Clutching onto her friend for dear life, she let out a strangled sob and moments later felt the lithe arms of Ginny surrounding her, as well. For a few quiet moments they stood in a tight embrace, Hermione's head resting against Harry's chest and Ginny's head resting between the brunette's shoulder blades. Eventually, Hermione let out a hiccupped laugh and wiped her eyes with embarrassed apologies,

"I'm so sorry, I just don't know where to go from here."

"You'll figure it out and until you do, you've got us." Ginny's promise was sealed with a beaming smile.

They talked about the last few days and Hermione omitted any the embarrassing details that included falling asleep with a wine glass in her hand and staining her bedspread (thank Merlin for magic), crying in the shower, and neglecting to brush her teeth or wash her face for the entirety of her time in isolation.

"What is Kingsley playing at with that memo?" Ginny spoke with a mouthful of pasta in a way that reminded Hermione greatly of Ron and she couldn't help but wonder how Harry stomached their similarities. Her friends' presence was refreshing and she felt a smile breaking out across her cheeks even as she responded in, what she knew was, a gloomy manner.

"It's obvious, isn't it? Kingsley's insecure about his work as Minister and is taking it out on all of us. If people can't say he's doing a bad job, then he must be doing a good job." She'd already finished her pasta and had the list of names laid out on the table for them all to peer at, "I mean look at these names, this is absolutely ridiculous. It's nearly all Death Eaters, if that's not prejudice I don't know what is."

"So what? I'd be more concerned about your name being on there more than anything, Hermione. This isn't going to look good on your spotless record." If any other person had spoken Hermione knew their voice would be full of sarcasm fueled by annoyance at her perfectionist habits, but Ginny spoke with true concern.

"I know, but at least the rest of my record is spotless. A lot of these people are just trying to restart their lives after the war and at least a dozen of these people are on here for writing in with complaints about a topic I brought up!"

"Look, we'd rather them complain now about lack of respect than revolt latter because of it." Harry's words were true, but guilt still weighed heavy on Hermione' shoulders. "Just sit tight, Hermione, we'll figure this out."

"Yeah," Hermione added with a small grin, "we always do."

She went to bed that evening with an easier mind. It was easier because it was busier, which was quite a relief to the bookworm who cuddled into her pillows with her warm cat by her side and her toes wrapped tightly in her favorite Gryffindor colored socks. Brown curly locks splayed out across the milky pillowcases and a loud yawn escaped her as she stretched up to the ceiling, clenching and releasing her muscles with a satisfied mewl. Things were messy in the wizarding world and thus good in Hermione Granger's heart, for when things were amuck she went to work. It was just when her body had relaxed into the mattress and her thoughts were slowly dwindling off to the place somewhere between being awake and asleep that a quick scratching noise startled her into an upright position. Only a few moments of listening intently to the noise lead her into her bathroom where she pried open the shower window and let in a rather regale looking owl. The penmanship on the envelope shocked her into very nearly dropping the letter all together. It was him, the Fallen One, he'd written her at her home address.

With a pounding heart and trembling fingers she quickly searched for an owl treat before locking the window and carrying the letter into her bedroom. Crookshanks looked accosted by the whole situation and Hermione felt flustered as yellow eyes followed her pacing form across the length of her bedroom. This man knew her identity, the fact that the entire wizarding world knew her alias hadn't quite sunk in until that moment. Suddenly, she found herself hoping that she hadn't given harsh advice to anyone she actually knew. Heart pounding and fingers barely done trembling, Hermione broke the blank seal and pulled out the thick parchment and with anxious eyes she took in the royal blue ink:

Dear Miss Granger,

I was sorry to hear about your sudden unemployment. This information comes as no surprise to me, honesty can only be allowed to a certain extent in these times and under this regime. Strength and knowledge are not traits looked fondly upon by oppressors, Miss Granger, I encourage you to remember that. You are a bright woman and I would not count on you to dim your lights for any man. I trust that by this age you are aware of your intimidating nature and how a man in power might not appreciate being questioned by a columnist with brilliances more expansive than his imagination could begin to muster.

If there was a strand of employment I believe I could offer you that would stimulate and interest you in that you deserve, I would make that offer. Alas, I know not what business you would like to find yourself pursuing. May I assume it is safe to believe you wish to continue a career in writing? Your talent is uncanny and greatly admired, but of course, you already know this. Honesty in your response is greatly appreciated and I will apply myself in a vast search for you as a token of my gratitude.

I cannot help but feel it is I whom you blame for your termination at the Daily Prophet. No matter how I grieve for your loss, I feel it is necessary that I point out that you published my second response without my complete consent. Anonymity is of utmost importance to me, Miss Granger. Unfortunately, I believe you are now learning what it is to have anonymity ripped from beneath your feet. Do not fall, Miss Granger, but float in that space between what you need to do and what others believe you have done. You will persevere, you shall conquer. Remember: fight, fight, fight.

Merlin I've written a novel for you. I anxiously await your response, with sincere hopes that you will reply with a career option in mind. I am as anonymous as I am influential, Miss Granger, name the position and I will do all that I can to assist you. It goes without saying that with your resume, talent, and ambition my help is unnecessary but I am compelled to make this offer all the same.

Urging you to remember that your mind and efforts were wasted with the fools at the Prophet,

The Fallen One

I hope by now we've all figured out The Fallen One's identity. Let me know what you think!